Our girl rocked her first Valentine's Day with a sassy hearted dress that she wore as a tunic.
Tunics are more flattering for us tall gals, you see. Especially when you're 5 months and you look like you're 18 months.
Yawn.
7:00 a.m. photos are a snooze.
I admit I bought some affection for my child. Starbucks cards and Dove dark chocolates a happy daycare lady doth make.
That was poetic.
I'm shameless.
I have to buy one of these things.
Yet another eyesore of primary colored pieces of plastic that light up and spin and make my house look like crap.
I pulled out this little jazzy number.
Wait, the ship has sailed?
I must run to catch it.
What? I missed it because I can't actually move forward on my own?
Well, that's disappointing.
Everyone dresses their daughter as a little doll sailor, no?
Abby and Papi arrived on Saturday morning and it was on like Donkey Kong with hippopotamus ball popping.
They came bearing DVDs, so Genevieve was excited. My daughter loves her Baby Einstein videos, let me tell you.
Now you should see a dining room table there, if we had one.
We eat at the bar.
The one in our house, not Kilroy's.
That area rug is festooned with more light up crap.
Then it was on to a little light reading.
G regularly tries to concuss herself with a board book or two.
Abby says, pat the bunny.
Paul can touch daddy's scratchy face.
Genevieve can touch Papi's scratchy mustache.
We went to lunch at the Texas Roadhouse on Sunday.
Genevieve wore a new barrette. That lasted like 15 minutes.
Her cheeks are rosy as usual. I'm addressing that with Eucerin, fear not.
Daddy no longer has a scratchy face, thank you Lord.
The Christmas beard stretched way beyond Martin Luther King Jr. Day, which is normally the day we honor civil rights and shave the beard too.
Not this year.
He waited until just past universal lovin' day.
This showcases the 10 minutes that Genevieve cooperated in the restaurant.
Dear God Bless Texas Roadhouse and your peanutted floor,
Your peanutty floor makes it difficult for me to sway and dance to country music in front of the roll maker lady for 30 minutes with my toddler/5 month old while you make my very challenging to cook grilled chicken salad. I almost bit the dust a time or two, and my only difficulty would have been the family dilemma of having to choose my father or brother to represent me when I sued you for making me drop my toddler/super infant. I forgive you though because your rolls are made of angel baby flour.
Thanks,
Betsy
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